My hair usually tells me when it’s time for a haircut—the ends are extremely dry and conditioner is not cutting it anymore. I came to its rescue by applying a two-ingredient hydrating hair mask: honey and olive oil. I should’ve done it sooner to prevent dry ends. Yet, the ends remained dry. There was no choice other than to get a haircut.

Now, I either had to get a haircut in France, or in Romania (next place where my husband and I will be living in just eight days away). Sure, I could have considered cutting my own hair as a last resort. Just open the browser and pick one of the many online tutorials that teach you about cutting your own hair.

I immediately crossed getting a haircut in Romania off of the list. Why? Because I don’t speak the language. While I might have gotten away with using the Google Translate app when at the salon trying to explain to the hairdresser what type of haircut I want, I simply didn’t want to risk it. Moreover, I wouldn’t be able to have small talk with the hairdresser. I’d be limited to just asking for the type of haircut and that’s it.

So I opted to get a haircut here, in France. I speak passable French. I understand a lot of words. And I feel pretty comfortable having a conversation in French. The advantage of staying in the center of Écully is that there are six hair salons to chose from and each is three minutes, or less, walking distance from our place. Talk about convenience.

My next step was to conduct research. I researched online the translation for a layered haircut, as that is my go-to haircut—didn’t feel like experimenting. I also researched articles about getting a haircut in France. I came across two helpful pieces. The first one, was about practical French vocabulary to use at the hair salon, and the second article was from a personal blogger, which provided useful advice for getting a haircut. I learned that you do not tip the hairdresser—it is not expected. And as a last resort you can pull out a picture of your desired haircut on your cell phone and show the hairdresser.

I opted to go to the salon, privately owned, that is in the bottom floor of the same building where we live. I wasn’t sure if an appointment was required. I walked pass by it several times before deciding to get a haircut and no information was available as to booking an appointment, or if walk-ins were welcome. The worst case was to book an appointment if the salon didn’t take walk-ins.

It was around 10:45 a.m. on a warm Tuesday, and I decided to go get my haircut. After a mere 25-second walk to the salon, I pushed the glass door and one of the owners, Madame Berthe, greeted me with a smile. I said I wanted a haircut and she asked if I had an appointment. There was no availability that same day, so I booked an appointment for the following day. There were plenty of slots open, there was one at 11:00 a.m. and then pretty open after 1:00 p.m. I took the slot for 11:00 a.m. I walked out of the salon and went back home. Booking the appointment was easy— no problem communicating. I was excited and looking forward to the next day.

I left the apartment at 10:55 a.m. As I went down the elevator, I felt a bit nervous. I started to get butterflies in my stomach; like you get before a job interview, or before giving a presentation. I was greeted by Madame Berthe, she was with another client and she said I would be helped in five minutes. I took a seat in one of the small black barrel chairs with my back towards the windows of the salon.

Right in front of me there was a glass coffee table with several magazines. I glanced at them and none piqued my interest. I then reached out for my cell phone to review, once more, how to ask for my haircut. Straight across me, there was a TV on the wall with music videos on and the volume muted. I put away my phone and didn’t feel like watching the music videos, so I decided to glance at the different things in the salon.

After waiting for 10 minutes, a young hairdresser, greeted me. I told her I wanted a layered haircut. She helped me put on a black hairdressing gown, it was like a gown with sleeves that you see at graduations. She also took my small cross-body purse and stowed it in a cabinet behind the cash register booth.

The haircut process began. First, I got a shampooing. I took a chair and leaned my head back. Getting your hair washed is so relaxing; I felt pampered. After my hair was washed and towel-dried I was taken to the styling chair. The hairdresser confirmed that I wanted layers and how much should she trim off. She immediately noticed my hair’s dry ends and suggested they be trimmed off, I enthusiastically replied with a “yes, please trim them.”

As the hairdresser brushed my hair and sectioned it, she said something that I didn’t understand at all; I apologized for not understanding her and I let her know that I spoke little French. She asked me where I came from. That point was the start of an enjoyable conversation with Simona.

What a great opportunity to practice my French. I learned that she’s from Italy and she asked if I spoke Italian. I replied with a proud “si, parlo un po’ di italiano” with as much of an Italian accent as I could. She admitted knowing zero English but was a huge fan of American TV shows such as “Grey’s Anatomy”. She also asked if I came to France to learn French.

When Simona was done she brought over a small squared mirror and held it behind my head. I checked out the haircut and it was just what I expected. She finished by blow drying my hair.

I loved my haircut, I loved my conversation with Simona and I loved the experience of getting my first haircut in another country, in another continent and in another language.